The Bastard King
by Miss Little Foot
Summary: Arya is back in Westeros, seeking the names she has whispered to herself over and over. But a different name finds her ears- a name from a different list. She didn't believe the rumors at first- that a bastard king was about to make his claim... Not until he and his brotherhood without banners take her prisoner. Arya/Gendry
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there! So I'm aware that some of this is going to merge the books and the show together, but that's okay. I sort of plan on mixing bits and pieces from both. Some of it will be completely different altogether- I mean it, is fanfiction after all. Anyway, please comment and whatnot so I know to keep going!**

 **Chapter One**

Arya reigned in the horse she had taken from the stables. Shifting in her saddle, she watched as the sun slowly made it's way over the horizon. Red and orange, like fire, it spread through the sky. No, not fire- blood. It's bloody kiss reached the peaks of the twin towers, a river of red engulfing the sky. Just as the river of red had burst from Lord Frey's throat. Arya could still feel the stickiness of the old man's blood between her fingers.

It had been satisfying watching him crumble against the table, his blood pooling onto his dinner plate. But the feeling came and went. She had learned the hard way, after killing Raff the sweetling, that her satisfaction never lingered very long. There were too many names- names with faces that needed to die. For every one she managed, it was as if three more crept up in their places.

While biding her time in the Twins, she had come to hear news of the world she had once left behind. The world she had forgotten when she stowed away on _Titen's Daughter_. Kings had come and gone, dying like flies and growing back like weeds. Some of what she heard was old news, like the death of King Robert and the flesh hungry Bolton bastard in the North. Other stories were simply too ridiculous to believe. Men spoke of a dragon queen across the narrow sea and a bastard king hiding in the Riverlands. There was word of white walkers and wildings, a god of fire and a woman of stone.

There was one tale, however, that she couldn't bring herself to _disbelieve_. She had been in the Frey's kitchens when she heard the old crones whispering with their heads together. A wolf had taken back Winterfell. The northerners named him King of the North as they had once done for her eldest brother Robb.

 _Jon_.

It was all she could hope for- being back in his arms and feeling him muse her hair. Her loving brother with his dark eyes and easy smile. They said the girl was with him too- the last Lady Stark.

 _Sansa._

Arya could still hear her sister's shrill voice, her insults and disdain. She had been a selfish creature but Arya had been a little monster. She found herself willing to give anything just to hear her sister's shouting once more.

She wanted to go home- she wanted to something fierce- but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something stopped her every time she set her mind to it. A hollow feeling in her chest- emerging whenever she envisioned herself passing through the walls of Winterfell. She had tried going home once before and ended up half a world away. She was frightened the same thing would happen again. She also couldn't help but feel, deep inside, beneath the blackness the red witch had warned her about, that she wasn't a Stark anymore. Arry, Weasel, Salty, Mercy and the ghost of Harrenhall- those were who she was. Perhaps even Arya, the girl with murderous prayers, but not Arya of house Stark.

Leading her horse through the woods surrounding the Frey's domain, Arya dismissed her harrowed thoughts. She needed a plan- a place to go.

Morning mist layered the ground, making it soft under her horse's hooves. The Riverlands were naturally a wetter place than most and she had almost forgotten what dampness felt like. There was no such thing as waterlogged boots in Braavos unless you were foolish enough to take a dip in one of the canals. Granted, she did miss the salty tang and spice of the air. Braavos had always smelled of freedom. Westeros smelled like pain and suffering.

Following the _Trident_ , she made her way south. She kept to the enclosed spaces between thickets of trees, trying to remain as concealed as possible. With her hood drawn up and her cloak wrapped tight, she didn't look any different than a poacher's son or a farmer's boy.

Since turning six and ten, pretending to be a boy had grown harder and harder. She was still slight and slender, and hard with muscle, but her tunic was starting to pull tight across her chest. Her hair, wild and black as pitch, had also managed to make it's way halfway down her narrow back. She would have bound her breasts and sheared her head in a heart beat but she found that girls were welcomed far more easily into noble houses. Her sweet face and blossoming body had been the only reason the Frey swine had allowed her into their home. They had thought her a nice piece- a serving girl more than a few probably intended on bedding during her stay there.

Arya couldn't help but smirk to herself. Idiots. Men were such Idiots.

Arya wasn't sure where she was headed. All she knew was that she wanted to put as much distance between her and the Twins as was possible.

Arya tried to draw on memories of the old maps Maester Luwin had kept in his study. She knew she was near Riverrun- but she didn't want to go there. She didn't want to see the leaping trout of her mother's house.

An explosion of sound erupted from behind her; stampeding horses and the clang of steel. Cursing herself for being so lax, she dug her heels into the side of her stolen mount and took off at a gallop. She hadn't expected the Frey's to hunt her so quickly.

Refusing to look back and see how close they were, Arya pushed on ahead- leaping over rocks and roots. Arrows whistled from behind- one of the soldiers having spotted her through the trees. They shouted for her to stop as if they actually expected her to listen. An excitement flooded through her body, slowly filling the spaces usually left empty. Every nerve tingled like a spark beneath her skin. She laughed aloud as they cursed angrily, trying to keep up. She was a strong rider, small and agile. They had no hopes of catching her- she knew this, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe their arrows would continue to miss. One of them would hit their mark eventually.

A heavy crash drew her attention and she chanced a peek over her shoulder. The soldiers who had been following her, six by her count, and all in the blue and silver of house Frey, stopped their chase. One of the horses burst from the group without a rider. Arya pulled her own mount to a stop, shielding herself behind a tree.

Arya watched, confused, as the horseless soldier wrestled with someone on the ground. Only one of the soldiers noticed Arya, the others too preoccupied with their fallen companion. Roaring angrily through his helm, he raced towards her. Gingerly, she pulled needle from it's sheath.

The soldier wasn't even halfway towards her when Arya finally understood what was happening. A man, hidden in the treetops, flung himself at the charging soldier- throwing him completely from his horse. More shapes emerged from behind the trees and before Arya knew it, the woods were alive with the sound of clashing swords.

Using the bandits as her means of distraction, Arya drew her horse in the opposite direction- making her escape. One of the bandits, a beefy fool, tried chasing her down on foot but tripped over his own feet.

She didn't believe in gods but luck was certainly on her side. She couldn't have planned for something so perfect to happen- not that she deserved the fortune. It was her own stupid fault for being so careless in the first place.

Riding hard, she kept on- even after she could no longer hear the fighting. She could, however, hear the thunderous hooves of a single rider. He met every leap she took, followed every twisted turn. She had half a mind to stop and meet him in combat- slit his throat and be done with it. But she didn't know if he was soldier or bandit- and she didn't know how many of his friends had survived.

For a brief moment, fear settled itself in the pit of her stomach. She could feel her mount straining beneath her thighs, slowing as he grew tired.

 _Fear cuts deeper than swords_.

She repeated the mantra over and over, picturing her old dancing master. She saw Jaqen in her mind's eyes as well, the kindly man and the waif. What would they do? How would they save themselves?

She barely had a grasp on the hilt of her sword when the rider came up beside her. She expected steel in her back or a club to the head. She did not, however, anticipate the man vaulting from his saddle.

Her horse screeched in surprise as she was tackled from it's back. Curling herself into a ball, she let herself go flying- hoping that a smaller bundle would make for less damage. The man appeared to think the same thing, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing hard. He angled them in such a way that when they made contact with the ground, it was he who took most of the hit.

Arya didn't want to bother questioning what crazy lunacy was going on in the man's head- attacking her and then trying to stop her from getting too hurt. As soon as she felt the shuddering thump and heard the air leave his chest in a gasp, she scrambled to her feet.

Immediately, the man reached for her ankle and pulled her back down. His was in boiled leather rather than steel and wore a black handkerchief across the bottom section of his face. He was one of the bandits.

Kicking and clawing, she fought against his massive form, trying to wiggle free. But he was too strong- too heavy. With ease he had her pinned beneath him, his knees on either side of her hips. With one hand holding her wrists above her head, he used the other to pull back her hood.

His crisp, blue eyes narrowed.

"You're a- you're a girl?" he said, his voice muffled by the cloth over his mouth.

Rather than responding with her words, Arya spat in his face.

"Well that wasn't very lady like," he said, glaring at her as he removed his spit covered handkerchief and tossed it aside.

Arya stopped moving- her body numb with shock. He hadn't changed, not a single bit. The stubborn set of his jaw, his eyes- even his scowl. He looked the same; as if it were only moments ago that she had last seen him rather than a handful of years. There was no mistaking him. How could she? He was a name she repeated often- a name from a different list. A list of people she had lost.

Thinking that she had given up her fight, the young man, Gendry as she had once known him, lessened his hold.

"You-" she murmured, struggling to find whatever it was she wanted to say, "... You."

Brows furrowed, Gendry stared at her, "Did you hit your head or something, girl?"

Arya could hear people approaching but Gendry didn't seem too worried. One of the men let out a bird call and Gendry answered with one of his own. It brought back strange memories of an even stranger time.

 _"If you need help bark like a dog."_

 _"That's stupid. If I need help I'll shout help."_

The other bandits drew closer- laughing and jesting with one another.

"You really have no idea who I am?"

Gendry shook his head.

Just as the other men joined them, Arya swung out with her fist and slugged him in the jaw.

"You stupid!"

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	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who seems to be enjoying the story so far! I really appreciate the reviews and follows! Any-hoo, here's chapter two. Keep in mind that things will start to pick up now that Gendry and Arya are exactly where I want them. If you have any questions, don't be afraid of asking! And remember to review!**

 **Chapter Two**

It took three men to drag her away from Gendry. Snarling and cursing, she lashed out with every ounce of strength she could muster. The young man seemed more perplexed by the display than anything.

How could he not recognize her? It was his fault, it was _all_ his fault. If it hadn't been for him, they never would have been caught and taken to Harrenhal. If he had stuck by her side- she never would have been a mouse instead of a wolf. If he had chosen her over the brotherhood, they never would have sold him- they could have gone to Riverrun, they could have reached her mother in time. How could he not remember? It was his fault she had no one. He was the reason she _became_ no one. She never would have crossed the narrow sea. She would have stayed. They could have gone home- they could have been a family.

She recognized most of the men in Gendry's party. They had taken care of her once- on the promise of a reward. She hated them just as much as she hated him. Anguy and his mischievous grin, Lem and his yellow cloak, she hated them all. Thoros she hated most of all, him and his God of light, but he didn't appear to be with them. She hoped he wasn't dead somewhere; she wanted the sweet taste of killing him herself.

Lem held her tightly from behind, his hold as strong as iron- urging her to remain calm. Gendry, still on the ground, crossed his legs and leaned back leisurely, staring at her with a vacant expression. His hair was a dark, tussled mess- shadowing the sharp lines of his face. The little amount of boyhood she remembered of him was gone. His jaw was strong, his eyes sharp and his body built like a man grown- broad and lean with muscle.

It was the fat boy who spoke first- the one who had been dumb enough to think he could catch her on foot. He was exceptionally round- his husky belly peeking through the gaps in his leather. He too wore a handkerchief around his face, resting just below his plump, rosy cheeks.

Removing his mask, he ran a hand through his unruly curls. She knew him in an instant. Seeing him made her feel as if she had stepped back in time. She was very much surprised and felt a tingling behind her eyes. He looked so big- bigger than she remembered, and very much out of sorts dressed in leathers and mail with a sword at his hip. In fact, the sword looked like nothing more than a toothpick strapped to his massive waist. But even being dressed for _battle,_ as he would have put it, he still looked like the baker's boy she had reluctantly grown fond of.

"It's Arry!" he exclaimed, his mouth spreading into a crooked grin. "I can't believe it! It's Arry!"

Anguy squinted at her for a moment before folding his arms over his chest, "What are you going on about, Fat-pie? Who in seven hells is Arry?"

Men from across the narrow sea use to eye her hungrily, fascinated by the strange, little foreign girl. Their gaze would comb up and down her body, taking in the curves they liked and the things they could do without. Gendry eyed her in almost the same manner, drinking in every detail- only- she knew he was comparing what he saw now to the girl who played the boy. She refused to look away. She met his even stare, determined to watch the recognition flood his face.

A storm brewed behind his eyes, his face flashing so quickly from one feeling to the next.

After making up his mind, Gendry lifted himself from the ground and turned away from her.

Ayra hoped that looking at her was painful- she hoped with every ounce of her being that he felt guilty for the path he had chosen. She hoped-

"We're leaving," he said, interrupting her thoughts, his voice low and layered in ice. "Bind her hands. She's coming with us."

Dumbfounded, Arya opened her mouth, "Bind my-"

"Gendry!" interjected Hot pie. "We can't tie Arry up. It's Arry."

"Anguy, finding whatever horses are still around- it'll be faster than travelling on foot," said Gendry, ignoring Hot pie. "I want us out of the area before nightfall."

The authority he carried was astounding. Arya couldn't remember Gendry ever taking charge of anything. He had always been so silent- a follower who did as he was bid. Who was he now? Not her Gendry.

She was confused beyond belief. The anger and resentment she felt towards him, which in all honesty had only been a thin layer atop so many other feelings, died in the back of her throat- replaced by a hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach.

While Lem worked on strapping her wrists together behind her back, Hot pie reached out to Gendry- placing a meaty hand on his shoulder.

"Gendry... Think about this. It's only Arry," protested the baker's boy, trying to play the voice of reason.

Arya didn't bother struggling with Lem- there was no point. She was numb with shock and he was too strong.

A soft breeze swept through the woods, rustling the trees and underbrush. Gendry swivelled around, his stare as cold as the words he had spoken. With his shoulders back and his fists clenched at his side, he glared at her. She couldn't read his face. It was blank; guarded. She could tell he was hiding something, having been trained in the art of seeing with all her senses, but she couldn't decipher his secret. It was almost as if his eyes and body spoke a different language. He had changed in a way that made her uneasy.

"She isn't Arry, Hot Pie. Arry doesn't exist anymore. She's Arya Stark- sister to the king in north and daughter of Lady Stoneheart."

 _Lady Stoneheart_. She had heard stories of the woman but none of them seemed to add up to the same thing. She had no idea who she was- there certainly couldn't be any relation.

"Who the hell is Lady Stoneheart?"

"You always were wonderful at playing pretend," said Gendry with a bitter laugh. "Why are you here Arya? Why are you _really_ here? Your bastard brother or your twisted mother?"

"Gendry, I don't think she-"

"Keep your mouth shut, Hot Pie. She's been gone for nearly six years, and what, just appears out of thin air? A bit convenient, don't think? Stoneheart's men are hunting us all over the country and you're telling me you aren't the least bit suspicious?"

Lem interrupted the young man's rant, "And if she's an envoy for Jon stark?"

"Jon _Snow_ ," said Gendry, correcting the man though not in a way that was unkind. "He is a bastard who has made himself a king but he is still a bastard. He takes pride in who he _truly_ is."

She could hear the indirect insult in his tone- aimed towards her. If only he knew she was _truly_ no one.

"And if she is with him," continued Gendry. "We'll send her back with a bloody fruit basket. We don't need his help- this is _our_ fight."

"I don't understand what any of you are going on about!" she seethed, finally losing her temper.

Her wolf's blood, as he father called it, was starting to reach boiling point, "Will someone just explain to me what's going on?"

Nobody seemed to hear or notice her. They were too busy arguing amongst each other. It was only after Anguy returned with the horses that their attention found her again.

"There are only five," said Anguy, referring to the horses. "And five of us- where do we put the girl?"

Gendry slowly made his way towards her. Roughly he grabbed the front of her cloak, pulling her closer. He was tall, nearly twice her height. She felt like a mouse in his shadow. She never would have thought Gendry capable of ever making her feel so small in so many ways.

" _Milady,"_ he sneered. "Will ride with me."

One of the men in his party, equal in size to Gendry himself, led a horse towards them. The hood of his cloak hid his face- but there was something about the way he moved...

"Do we continue our search for the Blackfish?" asked the man, his deep, raspy voice sparking a sense of familiarity with Arya.

"No. He'll be long gone by now. A useful ally, but an impossible one to find. The siege at Riverrun ended nearly a fortnight ago- he may not even be in the Riverlands anymore. Besides," said Gendry, still gripping Arya by her front. "We have more important matters to attend to."

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	3. Chapter 3

**Hey there! Thank you so much for following and reviewing! Keep it up! Some of you are really getting into it and it feels awesome! Sorry it has taken so long. I'm down to only one day off from work -sigh-. Anyway, here's another installment. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter Three**

Gendry rode the company hard for nearly a week. Their horses were lathered and the men haggard by the end of each day but Gendry only allowed them a brief hour or so of rest before picking up the pace again. Each time they made camp, Arya was left to her own devices. The massive man in the cloak would lift her from Gendry's saddle and toss her to the ground, well away from the rest of Gendry's men. They weren't to speak to her- they weren't suppose to even look at her. Hot Pie, who didn't seem quite as inclined to obey Gendry as the rest, would often sneak her a bowl of whatever it was he had been cooking that evening. He'd even sit with her for a time if Gendry was too preoccupied to notice. But whether Gendry was distracted or not, the brute, with his course voice and staggered limp, always spotted them and put an end to their hurried chatter.

Hot Pie, for the homely boy she had always thought to be a bit on the slower side, was a surprising fountain of intrigue. He avoided speaking of Gendry directly, but she always managed to pull on a few loose ends of his stories until he caved. On their fifth night making camp, somewhere near Acorn hall based on her eavesdropping, she finally managed to piece together a fair bit of Gendry's past.

"He hit the shore in a small boat- hadn't had water or food for nearly a month. No one knows how he survived it," confessed Hot Pie, angling his body so that the other men couldn't see Arya shoveling down a bowl of stew.

Arya chewed thoughtfully.

"Where had been?"

Hot Pie shrugged his shoulders, "Where ever the red priestess took him. They say he left a slave but returned a king. He's that old king's bastard, you know. The fat one that was always drunk."

Suddenly, she was nine again, climbing to the top of one of the baggage trains. The King was visiting Winterfell- an old friend of her father's. He needed a block to step on and two grooms to help him swing his meaty leg over his saddle. She could still remember the first thought that popped into her mind when she watched the older man struggle from his horse. _He doesn't look like much of king._

But she had heard legendary tales of him growing up. He had been a strapping youth, strong and fierce. It was said that no one could match his strength in the field- and that no one could calm him like her own father. She supposed, even old and fat, she could match his face to Gendry's. They had the same eyes and hair, and even the same crooked smile- from what she could remember of him at least.

"Robert Baratheon."

"Ya, him. So many damn kings- it's hard to keep track of 'em all."

Arya could still remember the day they took him as clear as if it were only yesterday. They promised to make him a knight and instead they sold him like a sack of flour. The witch had cornered her that day- probably the only person who knew what truly lay within her heart. A darkness she called it. A darkness Arya hadn't even been aware of yet. It grew and grew, like a hunger or thirst. Arya learned in Bravos that killing soothed it for a time, but only a short while. It was strange, however. Since being in Gendry's company- among his men, even as a prisoner, the dull ache she usually felt wasn't there anymore. She felt no desire to kill any of them- even though she knew she could if she really wanted to. They were too lax for their own good; especially considering they were foolishly under the assumption that she was nothing more than a high born girl.

As Hot Pie continued to prattle on, she found herself listening more to his voice than to his words. A small notion struck her. Perhaps she had been too long without friends? Maybe that was why she felt the darkness ebbing back to it's hidden place, deep in her heart- somewhere where she couldn't really feel it.

"He went to the crossroads, no one knows why. He stayed there for a bit with a bunch of orphans. Don't know what he was doing there. All I know is he was headed north with the brotherhood- at least that's when the rumours started. He came to me though, just before- asking me to join the half of the brotherhood that were still fighting for the people. He thought that maybe I knew where-"

"-Lady Stoneheart was," said Gendry, interrupting their conversation so suddenly that Arya's bowl slipped from her hands.

Hot Pie's expression froze in the firelight. Arya could see a veil of sadness slowly melting over his soft features.

"Aye," agreed the baker's boy halfheartedly. "Lady Stoneheart."

"Who's Lady Stoneheart?" asked Arya, glancing from one young man to the other.

Gendry, who had refused to speak to her for the entire weak, seemed to catch himself before responding. Dismissing Hot Pie, he too turned to leave.

With narrowed eyes, she watched him unfurl his bed roll well away from the fire as he had done every night before. It was odd, seeing as how cold it had grown in the Riverlands with the coming winter, but he refused stepping anywhere near the warm glow. At first she had thought he was giving the space to his men- allowing them the comfort of the blazing fire- but there was always plenty of room. Sometimes, when no one else was paying attention, she caught him staring at the flames with a hatred that matched the intensity of the burning logs.

Kicking her fallen dinner out of the way, Arya huffed angrily. After an hour or so, the snoring began. Everyone was asleep- even Anguy who was suppose to be the first watch.

For a week, she had memorized their nightly routines- who kept watch diligently and who didn't, who took a piss every hour and who didn't usually wake up until dawn. Usually the massive beast of a man kept guard of her. He too avoided the fire and was prone to waking at the smallest of sounds but Gendry had sent him on an errand- something about scouting out their destination. Arya had no clue where Gendry planned on taking them. There really wasn't anything around of any interest. Most of the villages had been abandoned or sacked. But, nonetheless, she was thankful that he had sent the big man away. His absence was the only reason she had been able to talk to Hot Pie for so long. It also left her without a reliable guard for the night.

Shifting her wrists experimentally, and cringing as the rope chaffed her raw skin, she felt her bindings loosen. Between sweat and the damp weather, the frayed rope binding her hands had started to wither and rot. Biting back a groan of pain, she wiggled her hands free.

It was an amazing feeling being able to flex her stiff fingers- like a heavy weight had been lifted from them. They were a tad shakier than she liked- numb almost, from lack of proper use. She gave her blood a minute to circulate before easing into a crouching position. Her ears strained to hear any hint of someone waking but the camp was filled only by the sounds of sleep.

As she crept through camp, staying clear of the horses so as to not frighten them into a frenzy, she stole what she could from available packs. She found herself a knife and a canteen from one, a wedge of cheese and salted beef from another. Most of the men slept with their cloaks for warmth so there was no hope in swiping one of those- but a cloak wasn't what she found herself searching for. Needle was what she wanted but she didn't know if the risk was worth it.

She had a fair enough weapon with the knife and food to get her by until she reached a village. Every sensible part of her screamed to take her chance and just flee already. Nobody would wake- nobody would find her. It'd be too late by the time they noticed she was gone. She wished she could just talk to Gendry, tell him everything that had happened. It would make things so much easier- he'd maybe even trust her a little. They could laugh and joke again, and Hot Pie would whine and it would be just like when they were younger. But he clearly wasn't going to have any of that. The boy he in no way similar to the man he had become. She needed to put the bastard _would-be king_ behind her and never look back, for both of their sakes.

But he had needle. She knew he did. He had grabbed the sword as soon as they tied her up and slung her on his horse. Not once had she seen it leave his hip. His own sword he removed for sharpening every night, leaving it beside his bed roll when finished- but not needle. The stupid bastard kept it on his person just to spite her- why else would he always have it so close?

Annoyance won over common sense. She had lost the sword before and it had taken her forever to get it back. Not this time- She refused to leave it behind. Needle was the only part of Arya Stark she had left.

Slipping from one shadow to the next, her steps as light as a feather, she approached his sleeping form. He didn't look half as threatening sprawled on his back, one hand behind his head while the other rested atop his chest. In fact, he looked peaceful and much younger than exhaustion had made him. The creases of disdain and worry had gone smooth- making him look more the Gendry she had once known. He was actually relatively handsome without the permanent scowl he saved for her and her alone. Most girls would have gone breathless at the sight of him- not Arya though. Arya found herself resisting the urge to stomp on his groin and kick him in his stupid, curly head.

Fighting the urge to mumble angrily to herself, she lowered herself to his level and gingerly reached for his sword belt. Her hand hovered over the leather strap for a moment- wondering how best to remove it without waking him.

"You're a right idiot, aren't you?" he whispered, his eyes still closed.

Instinctively she leaned back, expecting him to grab her but he didn't move.

"You couldn't just leave without your little plaything could you?"

Arya hissed between her teeth. He still hadn't moved- and she wasn't about to wait for him to either. Slamming her knee hard into his chest, she winded him. When his back arched and he gasped for air, she pulled at the sword belt and ripped needle free- tossing it well out of his reach. He was halfway in a sitting position, clutching his ribs, when she straddled his lap. Gripping his hair in one hand, she tilted his head back forcefully and positioned her stolen knife at the base of his exposed throat.

Flinging his arms back, he used them to keep himself propped up. He didn't struggle- he didn't even have the decency to look remotely strained. He merely sat there, not bothering to push her away or flip them over. He was strong enough to overpower her- she knew he was, and yet he chose not to. He refused to even so much as flinch when she pressed the dagger closer to his skin- drawing a bead of blood.

She didn't understand why and it infuriated her to no end- but even with her having the upper hand and him refusing to defend himself... She couldn't help but feel he was still winning somehow.

"You going to kill me then?" he said, shifting his weight so she was more evenly dispersed. "Well go on- I won't stop you."

Being so close, barely inches apart, she could see the faint bruising along his jaw from where she had punched him a week before. The corners of his mouth twitched, raising into a smirk though the feigned mirth didn't reach his eyes. She couldn't tell in the darkness but she knew his eyes were as hollow and dead as they were during the day- haunted by something he wouldn't allow her to see.

"I _should_ kill you," she whispered- more to herself than to him.

"Then do it," he murmured back.

As if doing so on it's own, her hand drew back from his throat- releasing the pressure the steel bore against his skin. She had killed before- plenty of times. Killing was as simple for her as milking a cow was for a milkmaid. Back in Bravos she had worn many faces and honoured the many faced god more than once. She had even gone as far as honouring herself- risking everything she had fought so hard for. It was why she no longer had a place there. She had stolen life from the many faced God and would be forever hunted until she paid for them in turn with her own.

But with Gendry- she just couldn't find her hidden darkness. Even if it was he who had her by the throat, she wasn't sure if she could kill him. The killer inside of her- the darkness that twisted and ripped at her soul- she couldn't feel it at all when he was around. She couldn't feel it with any of them- not Hot Pie or Anguy, no matter how hard she tried to call on it. It frustrated her to no end. It made her weak. But why?

"I can't- I just can't do it," she said while carefully lifted herself off of him.

Feeling a tad defeated, she flopped down in the grass beside him. He stared at her for a time, a searching stare, but she refused to hold his guess.

A disturbance in the trees behind them caught her attention. Gendry seemed to notice it too for his arm swung out instinctively to shield her.

Twigs snapped and leaves rustled. From the trees, a man appeared- manoeuvring with a limping gait. The sight of them amused him, or perhaps he had been there long enough to see all of what had happened. Either way, a hoarse laugh escaped the shadows of his hood. There was no mistaking the sound- it was Gendry's man, the one he had sent for scouting.

"You're back already I see," commented Gendry, lowering his arm.

"She didn't kill you I see," replied the man. "I told you the little demon wouldn't do it."

Arya looked at him- trying to see with her eyes, ears and nose. He was so familiar that it made her stomach a little queasy trying to put a face to his grating voice.

"Who are you?"

The man lowered himself to their level. Slow and deliberate, he leaned over Gendry- bringing himself closer for her to see. When he drew back his hood- everything about him made sense. Even queasy feeling of guilt she had mistaken for annoyance.

"Another man you couldn't bring yourself to kill," sneered Sandor Clegane, his marred face glowing menacingly in the moonlight.

 **Comment. Fave. Whatever.**

 **Gracias. Sus comentarios significan mucho, Str Mercury**

 **P.S I'm sure most of you guessed who my mystery man was so kudos to you! I'll admit, to** **StarKiss666** **and HoRnIe DeMoN** **,** **who actually mentioned him in their posts- I was like- AW COME ON. I THOUGHT I WAS BEING SO CLEVER, HAHA! Anyway, thanks again for all your amazing comments.**


	4. Chapter 4

_I can't believe I forgot all about this fiction. Honestly, I never would have guessed it would end up having such a following! I thank you all for taking the time to read my little fiction and for showing me how much you enjoy it. Again, thank you so much. It means the world to me. I know this is a short chapter- but it's just to show you I'm picking it back up (I honestly didn't mean to forget about it, life just sort of caught up and then when I was looking for a fiction to read after the finale... I came across this and was like OHYA!) And if you guys are ever interested, here's my wattpad user: d_ _izzydisasterxo_

 **Chapter Four**

His breath smelled like stale wine and pickled onions. Arya nearly gagged as he pulled her closer- taking his time in replacing her bindings. He refused to speak; acknowledging her only with huffs and grunts as he pushed her about like a limp doll. The fact that Gendry wanted horses ready within the hour was enough to annoy Sandor but the fact that the young bastard ordered him to ride with her seemed to rub salt in his already festering mood.

"What's a big tough man like you afraid of? You seemed so eager to have me rubbing up in front of you before," spat Arya as she watched Gendry strap his packs to his saddle.

The last thing she need was for the hound to accidentally jostle her from his horse and have her snap her neck. Gendry was an ass but the hound was vindictive. No matter which way she looked at it the curly haired youth was the lesser of two evils.

Sandor tugged on her newly bound wrists, half dragging her towards his horse. She stumbled only slightly, refusing to trip while she knew Gendry's eyes were hovering in her direction. They weren't causing much of a ruckus but their camp was already starting to wake. Sleepy eyed and curious, the few men who were starting to rouse watched their bastard leader hesitatingly.

"You've already proved your feminine heart is too weak to kill me, _milady_ ," said Gendry icily. "As for the _rubbing_ , well... I'm not interested in little girls who look like little pug faced boys. But just you wait and see when we get to _The Peach-_ I'll show you what a real woman looks like."

Ayra stopped so suddenly that she nearly toppled forward because the hound, who wasn't paying attention to their banter, continued pulling her along.

Gendry's men whistled and hooted- proud of their leader's quick wit. But in all honesty, the insults were wasted on Arya. She was use to hearing bitter chatter of weakened opponents. Men, even ones who weren't half as clever, always turned into shit smelling windbags when they felt threatened. She had weaselled her way in, unintentionally but even still. It had been instinct- his arm flying out to protect her when the hound had first made his approach. A foolish display of possessive instinct. He could go on about how weak she was all he wanted because she knew that, deep down, he had already realized his own weakness as well.

Hot Pie, massaging his massive belly as he stumbled towards their little gathering, stared at them with groggy eyes.

"What's going?" he asked with a yawn.

There was a murmur of agreement shifting through Gendry's men like a restless wind. What was the bastard king playing at?

The hound hoisted her into his saddle. He wasn't rough but he didn't take much of a care either. Twisting her bindings, he made sure she was secured to the pummel before swinging himself up behind her. His massive chest pushed her forward. As small as she was, there was still little to know room. Cringing to herself, she fought the urge to slam her head back against his chin as he breathed down her neck.

"Get on a horse Hot Pie- we're leaving," said Gendry as he reigned his own mare in a circle while he waited for everyone to get themselves situated.

Hot Pie grumbled under his breath- clearly displeased by the idea of an early morning ride. But it wasn't Hot Pie she found herself drawn to. Anguy, who was usually all smiles and carefree chatter, looked a million miles away as he adjusted his gear and readied his mount. His brows were furrowed together as if deep in thought. She never remembered him being the _thinking_ type but there was clearly something bothering him.

As their group slowly started making their way from camp, Arya chanced another look at the young marksman. His handsome face was cast in shadows as he lingered near the back of their company.

After an hour or so of silence, Arya found herself growing bored, "Why are we going to _The Peach_?"

"Obviously to fuck whores," grunted the hound.

Arya didn't believe him and she certainly didn't believe Gendry. Whenever the brotherhood brought women around, Gendry had always wandered off in the opposite direction- usually choosing to spend his evening annoying her. He was older now yes, and more than likely with a man's needs whether or not she cared to admit it, but to break camp for such a pathetic whim? No- she wasn't buying it. The hound had been scouting ahead for something, but for what she couldn't say.

There wasn't a stray light of morning to be seen even though she felt they had ridden through half the night. Gendry's men whispered to each other- some jesting while others discussed more serious matters. She tried eavesdropping but the hound always seemed to pull his horse ahead just before she could hear anything worth knowing.

At the front of the line, Gendry rode alone. His back was straight and his head focused forward, but even she could see there was a slump to his shoulders. He was tired.

A comical hiss sounded from left. Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn't help but laugh as Hot Pie tried keeping pace with her and the hound all the while balancing a loaf of bread on his lap. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of it.

"Want some?" he asked with a grin.

Tearing a large portion, he leaned out to give it to her. Arya rolled her eyes. The dolt hadn't even clued in that her hands were bound. The hound snatched it up instead, wordlessly shoving it in his mouth. She wasn't sure what infuriated her more- the crumbs tickling the back of her neck or the sound of his lips smacking together as he chewed.

Her stomach rumbled.

To her surprise, the hound poised his hand in front of her face- a small piece of bread waiting for her. Abandoning her dignity, she snapped it up in one bite.

"Seriously, why are we going to a whorehouse?" she asked, sliding her tongue over her teeth- savouring each bit of bread stuck between them.

The hound grunted in annoyance, shifting his weight as their path sloped downwards, "We're meeting an old _friend._ Now stop talking."

Eventually the trees started to lessen and the trail grew wider. Bits of her memory pieced themselves together. She remembered coming this way before- nothing had really changed, not even her circumstances. She had been a captive then too. A prize that the brotherhood planned on selling.

The walls weren't nearly as white as she remembered but the same sign hung over the inn's doorway- a peach with a bite taken out of it.

Gendry called for his men to stop. Dismounting, he offered his reigns to a stable hand who was lounging in the grass near the brothel's entrance.

"Sandor, Hot Pie- both of you come with me. No Anguy, you stay here," said Gendry as he started for the inn doors.

Anguy, who was already off his horse, opened his mouth to protest but then decided against it with a sullen frown.

Arya almost counted herself lucky for being left behind. But then Gendry paused for a moment and turned his head ever so slightly, a cold grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Sandor, bring Arya as well."

Women were rushing towards them before the door could even swing closed. They cooed and giggled- the simpering fools. Arya wanted to gag. Two plump, rosy faced girls greeted Hot Pie with kisses while a tall, willowy creature attached herself to Gendry's arm.

"Bella, where's Tansy?" asked Gendry as they were all marched into the main drinking hall of the inn.

The woman named Bella pouted, stroking Gendry's arm, "She's upstairs with _him._ Wouldn't you prefer me tonight? You spend an awful lot of time with Tansy. Why not spend some with me?"

Arya couldn't hold it any longer. An audible retching sound escaped her throat. The hound gave her a quick cuff on the back but Gendry had already heard her.

"Are you troubled Arya?" asked the bastard boy, his eyes glinting in the dim firelight of the hall.

"I think she's thirsty," grunted the hound before grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her close so only she could hear, "get us kicked out of here by running that big mouth of yours and it'll be the end of you."

Arya couldn't even feign confidence with her hands still bound in front of her. Irritated, she took a seat at one of the vacant tables in the hall. It appeared that most of the inn's occupants were already in their private rooms- doing only gods knew what.

Gendry, having already lost interest in the two of them, turned his attention back to Bella.

"Sweetling- bring Tansy and our _Friend_ down here for a drink- go on," said Gendry.

The slender woman pouted but Gendry pulled her close, murmuring something in her ear. She giggled prettily as his hand found her backside. Arya forced herself to look away. He certainly had grown into a man his father would be proud of- the pig.


End file.
